It chose me
They always talk about finding your voice. They never talk about when you finally stop running from it.
Back in the day when I was a wee gal of a romance writer, I tried to write sunshine. I’m sure you’re familiar with those romances. They’re called “beach reads” and had those bright covers with the summery colors. The story was simple: breezy conflicts, comedic moments, and nothing too terrible waiting in the shadows. In fact, there were no shadows, the sun was so bright. They were marketable and safe. Easy-peasy, right? But, when I sat down, or thought I had an idea that would fit, those pesky shadows would creep in uninvited. The “what-ifs”, the “there’s a secret” always snuck up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.
Why couldn’t I be normal about this?
Sit down next to me, darling, and I’ll tell you why.
I was that kid. In between double-dutch and piano lessons, I was the kid who wanted to be Darth Vader for Halloween, not Princess Leia. I read Stephen King’s Carrie at an age that was probably too young. (It was the seventies, what can be said?) While I did watch Dukes of Hazzard, I also sat with my grandmother watching Quincy ask “what really happened here” – and I wanted to know too! The people on the show: He drowned in the swimming pool. Me: no he didn’t! he had pond water in his lungs!!!
On Friday or Saturday nights, right after Paul Harvey, I’d listen to CBS Mystery Theater on WOR radio. Yes, dear, the radio. Imagine that. I also was a loyal viewer of Chiller Theater on Channel 9, much to my sleep detriment. Mind you, I didn’t like being scared….but there was something about the mystery and the horror that was so inviting.
That’s what I mean when I say “the dark”. It’s not black lipstick or fake spiderwebs in the corners. (Though Finding Fernidad makes a lovely black lipstick.) It’s not atmosphere or aesthetic. It’s a method of living. Darkness is where the real human motivations live: the ones folks don’t admit to when the sun is at high noon.
Gothic fiction doesn’t wallow in shadow just for show, for fun, for…giggles. It goes underneath, into the nether of the soul, where the most super very true things are kept. Or hidden, as may be the case.
Exhale. When I finally admitted to myself that I wasn’t a sunshine-and-lollipop type of gal, everything just…unlocked.
I venture to think that some of you know exactly what I mean.
Let’s talk about it.
If this resonates with you, tell me your origin story in the comments. I’d love to know what first gestured at you from the dark.
Until the next time we meet in the shadows,
Dahlia
